


Starfire

by Bees_and_Ink



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Archbishop Seteth, Breeding Kink, Established Relationship, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Post-Game, Seteth Birthday Bash (Fire Emblem), Sexytimes, Thalia is just the name of my Byleth, just let him unwind once in awhile, kinda draconic Seteth, no beta we die like Glenn, trying for baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bees_and_Ink/pseuds/Bees_and_Ink
Summary: Your makers must have kissed in cosmic dust.Written for the 2020 Seteth Birthday Bash Week day 4 prompt: passion/relationship.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Kudos: 27
Collections: Seteth Birthday Bash 2020





	Starfire

From the very beginning, passion had been a key factor in Seteth and Thalia’s relationship.

Be it the initial distrust that he regarded her with, the subsequent frustration on her part, the tipping point of two heads butting until they both tumbled into the flames, and even their joint succumbing to love; together, they _burned_.

They burned in heated glances across the dining hall, where his eyes gleamed like precious green jewels kissed by embers as her tongue poked the inside of her cheek in a gesture that couldn’t be interpreted as anything less than a calculated tease. They burned when she passed him in the hallway on the way to one of his endless meetings, a little kiss and whisper in his ear to get Saint Cichol _really_ thinking. They burned in moments stolen in hidden alcoves they’ve long-since memorized, hushed so their voices wouldn’t carry to the ears of a stray priest. Incendiary, she sought to provoke, firmly poking and prodding with words and touches alike, attuned to the subtlest of changes in his expression even after a mere seven years. Some coupling of her observational skills. the camaraderie forged in fighting alongside one another, and seeing his face every day left her keen to the way he tensed and worked his jaw, the dangerous flash of his eyes, warning of something ancient and wild and nigh incomprehensible, the creak of a quill’s shaft under great pressure.

Excitement thrummed through veins of cosmic dust and soil from where the world was still new, simmering beneath the surface because this time there was the promise of building a truly brighter Fódlan in the ashes left by the war. This had been a decision made after many, _many_ discussions, the first initiated by a quiet question in the dark when she was in his arms, and he had nearly stopped breathing. He had never imposed any sort of pressure that they further their bloodline — he had even told her as much when she had proposed to him — but the fact that she had initiated this discussion after years of taking herbs meant to prevent such an outcome was… well. Suffice it to say, Thalia had never seen him in such a state before.

Thalia could see that the effects of her teasing throughout the day had taken their toll on him as he entered the Archbishop’s quarters abruptly that evening. She startled at just how sudden the motion was, nearly spilling her glass of red from where she was curled up reading on the corner of the chaise, eyes wide as she took him in. There was something about seeing him draped in white and gold silks, as proper as ever, but with that _look_ on his face that made her smile. The lock clicked like some sort of judgment as he crossed the room in two strides, giving her just enough time to set the book aside before he was looming over her, arms crossed, an unfathomable expression on his face. She shifted a little in her oversized blouse (one of _his_ blouses with the billowing sleeves), crossing one stocking-clad leg over the other, and lifted the glass. Her lips were kissed with crimson.

“Want a taste?” she purred, batting her lashes deliberately, very clearly not referring to the alcohol.

“You are positively _iniquitous_ ,” Seteth informed her, voice worn from gravel and dipping into a lower octave as it skated on a growl. It almost gave her pause, something deep inside of her responding to it, but she was always one to take things into stride. It had manifested more and more as she discovered the sort of person that she was, independent of a faintly-feeling husk. And oh, how much more exciting it made life.

“Wanna tell me about it?” Thalia perched her cheek on a fist like a girl eager to gossip, swirling the wine in her glass with the other hand. Her smile faltered and she straightened as he leaned down to her height, slowly, forcing her legs to uncross so that he could place his hands on her thighs, wedding band catching on the gossamer material of her stockings. But her vanishing impudence wasn’t out of fear, but rather an awed, dawning realization of just what she had provoked from her husband, and just what sorts of consequences would find her over the course of the evening. Some deep part of her that she still didn’t entirely understand herself yet seemed to awaken with his own, a call in her blood that recognized his intent, one divine creature to another, without a single word.

Stars caught in orbit, one consumed by the other, catching fire, this was an inevitable collision, a mutual surrender of pride to create something extraordinary. 

His brilliant eyes, usually only flashing teases of gold when he was worked up, were practically incandescent in the low light, a forest of fathomless shades of summer green set alight with warm veins of autumn. His pupils were narrowed to slits as he watched her, unwavering, face so close that she could count every lash, and Thalia suddenly became very aware of how much wound up raw _power_ there was in the entire line of his body, could feel the strength in hands that seemed so much larger than her own as his long fingers traced the lacy dragons soaring and diving across her skin. Powerful and proud as she was in her own right, it made her shiver all the same.

“No,” she said when he didn’t reply, not daring to raise her voice above a whisper. Carefully, like moving in front of a wild animal (which wasn’t an entirely inaccurate comparison to make, she supposed), she set her glass aside. “I think you’d much rather be doing something else.”

“You are playing a dangerous game, Thalia,” he whispered in turn, watching her cheeky smile return as they entered familiar territory once more. Playing with fire, tempting him with these very same stockings and all that she was had been how their story began, after all. It was at the core of their relationship. “Is this still your wish?”

She lifted a hand to touch his cheek, his skin burning pleasurably against her own, and said: “I can’t wait to build this family with you, Set, and I can’t wait for you to make me not walk tomorrow.”

Nostrils flaring, that was all he needed to hear. 

With the ravenous need of an inferno consuming everything in its path, he surged forward, mouth searing over her own in a kiss that left her breathless, eager to finish whatever it was that she had started. Moments bled one into another in sensate excitement, where she stood before him, hands gliding over far too much silk, in search of flesh. On the other hand, her own choice of clothing made it sinfully easy to touch as he pleased, his breath hitching as he realized that she had forgone smallclothes entirely; not that he should have been surprised. It was just like her. 

He had missed her. Dreadfully, today, the promises that she had made enough to distract him far more than he was willing to admit. Just as she had been in the beginning, she was content to occupy her role as the temptress, a succubus with a wolfish grin and just the right words to make his quill snap in his grip, and she had certainly succeeded today. And now that he had her in his arms, he did not intend to let her go.

The sound of her moaning breathlessly into his mouth as he squeezed delightfully soft flesh was as sweet a sound as Seteth could recall, though the way that it made heat prickle under his collar reminded him of his own state of overdress. It didn’t take long after being distracted by his mouth for her to notice too, and the way she so impatiently tugged at cords and tassels alike, insistent, made him chuckle. The rumble of his laugh echoed throughout her entire body, making her toes curl at the decadence of it, setting her blood ablaze, and she shivered, anticipatory. He couldn’t help but to agree with her impatience in this regard. A spirit of the earth was meant to create new life, and a dragon to be united with his mate in every sense of the word. 

Seteth parted from his wife only long enough to toe off his boots and slough off the robes of his station, shedding them and his title like a reptile’s skin. In the sanctuary of their chambers, in her company, he didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than the most basic essence of himself. Didn’t have to perform for a world that could not comprehend who or what he truly was. 

When Thalia stepped forward to resume, hands admiring the bare form of the man before her, she kissed not Seteth the Archbishop, nor Cichol the saint, but the one who had saved her. Lover, defender, husband, friend.

He lifted her into his arms with ease, her thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist as they continued in earnest. Locked in a passionate embrace, her fingers delving through his dark green locks, he somehow managed to make his way to their room even as she so distractingly pressed kisses to his neck the entire way. How very like her to take a mile when he’s given her an inch. That opportunistic streak was what made her such an adept mercenary. 

“Tell me if it is too much.”

“You could never be—”

“ _Promise me._ ”

“I promise.”

Even as familiar emerald was tempered by intense desire, pupils thin pillars of obsidian in a vast sea of molten gold, she found refuge in his arms, in memorizing his skin anew, excitement crackling beneath her own. 

Even as they united again and again and again to the point of exhaustion, she had never felt more alive, caught in the same riptide as him. If they were a blaze, they were one that never ceased to burn. And as the cold, unyielding stone of the wall bit into her back, she sank her nails deeper into his shoulders, delighted in his hiss of pleasure, and prayed. 

She prayed their blaze of starfire was eternal as they tumbled into bed. Prayed that he would never stop as his hips snapped into her, hair falling in his face. Prayed that they would have a little girl or boy with his eyes and his smile as she cried out and felt sharpened canines dig into her throat with the ecstatic cry of a whole new reality being born. 

His hands were everywhere and Thalia returned the favor, raking her nails down the familiar ridges and planes of his back, claiming him until her wrists were bound in his hands. He marveled at now easily they fit, while she breathed in the heady, intoxicating fusion of sex, adrenaline, dragonfire smoke like it was a heavy incense. She could only imagine the affronted looks if any of the priests heard her compare this to the divine.

Yet it _was_ , having transcended sin in such a way that instinct and love and unfathomable trust had come together to forge something that was certain to last.

As he gripped her hips and hungrily watched her take him, he couldn’t help but to imagine her ripe with child, her figure changing to accommodate the nurturing of new life. She would make a wonderful mother; of that he was certain. He could see it in the way that she had so fiercely defended her students, how she had been willing to fight a war to the bitter end to ascertain that no one else fell, in how she had brought back his child with her heart still beating. It was passion that drove her to defend what had quickly become her new life worth fighting for, passion that he had fallen in love with.

Rising to feast on her breasts, the phantom taste of vanilla-almond coupled with her lips tracing the subtle, delicate point of his ear was his final undoing.

Their fire eventually dwindled to a lazy few embers, where breath was found once more, mouths sought one another out, and meandering, leisurely touches predominated. She settled against the vast expanse of his chest with a single sigh that conveyed her complete and utter contentment far better than he could ever attempt to put into words. Now that the roar of need has quieted, now that the beast has been returned to his shackles, slumbering and purring, Seteth felt the prickle of discomfort. He had spent so many years of his long life an advocate of self-control, even priding himself in his own, that to give in to those baser instincts left him unable to shake the concern that it would be too much to forgo the typical tighter lead. That his own all-consuming passion might frighten her. 

“My love?”

“That was so fucking hot. Holy shit.”

And he laughed in spite of himself, kissing the top of her head, worries assuaged in two incredibly eloquent sentences. That’s his Thalia. Be it her blood or simply the nature of who she was, she had never flinched from that other half of himself before, and she certainly hadn’t started now. She welcomed it, frequently enjoying the teases of it before with great enthusiasm, and some part of him now felt justified in concern that her efforts would only double after tonight. But that sort of thinking was for another time. What mattered now was the almost guaranteed outcome of their evening.

“I like the name Anthea,” she yawned, clearly having been lost to thought as well, nuzzling into him as they remained linked, and it took only a beat before he realized what she meant. It all made his heart soar, high and giddy and delighted on wings he no longer had because of course she wanted to remain connected like this, any lingering guilt being traded for incomparable levity; she had been made for him. They would move forward together. Always.

Her words were slurred, though, and he didn’t blame her. Goddess’ vessel though she might be, even he was taxed — despite the stamina of his kind — once that biological imperative had been sated. She was filled to the brim with his seed and then some, and he had to stop thinking about how it was undoubtedly leaking from her before the desire to fill her arose again. 

“And if he is a boy?” he wondered, tracing meaningless patterns into her arms.

A few moments passed. When the rhythmic tide of her breathing was all she offered in reply, Seteth smiled into the dark, and allowed his own lids to fall. Was it the logic-defying intuition of a mother, perhaps, or the delirium of a brain only partly awake? Either way, the old earth dragon turned Archbishop found himself quite at ease, settling in and preparing for a day of rest with undoubtedly sore bodies tomorrow. Another girl was perfectly fine to him. 

He imagined her, cherubic cheeks, crying as her lungs cleared in the world for the first time, with delicate pointed ears, soft, tiny fingernails, and verdant hair. The first Nabatean to not only be born in over two millennia, but to be _his_ was as exhilarating a concept as it was sad, but there was also hope there, the realization that his people would live on despite the odds. The fruit of their union… a being born of starfire and the earth could not find a more apt name than “blossom.”

“Anthea it is.”


End file.
